Somehow Forgotten
by Gitana del Sol
Summary: Written for the Quidditch League Competition, season 3, round 4, in which Neville Longbottom feels terribly alone. Score: 9.5/10


**This round was about emotions, but we could not actually use the emotion in the piece! My emotion was loneliness.**

 **Word Count: 978**

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" _Loneliness does not come from having no people around you, but from being unable to communicate the things that seem important to you."  
Carl Jung_

Neville sighed, staring at the half-eaten roast duck and the mashed potatoes spread across his plate. He propped an elbow on the table, dropping his head onto his hand. He had never really liked these sorts of formal dinners, and though Gran talked of the grander parties and more elegant dinners of her days with nostalgia, he was glad that the Tonks family had a humbler home. Mrs. Tonks liked to decorate the garden with fairy lights and drape the rectangular table with linen, but she always made it clear that dinners at her place were less formal, preferring her guests to feel welcomed as friends. It was acceptable to don airy robes rather than be made to sit for hours in a stuffy dress robe, and for this Neville was grateful. Gran, of course, was adamant that he should be socialized to be a proper gentleman and made sure that holiday dinners were of the respectable sort. He couldn't see the point, really; he was bollocks at remembering which utensil to use first or deciding where he should sit, and he couldn't ever seem to provide any stimulating topic of conversation to the poor witch that had been unfortunate enough to be seated beside him.

Suddenly, Neville jumped and snatched his arm back to his lap. He glanced around, dreading his grandmother's reaction had she seen it, but she was deep in conversation with Mrs. Tonks, who was seated on his right. Elbows on the table, he knew, was most certainly not a respectable gesture.

"What will you be taking next year, Neville? You'll be picking your N.E.W.T. level classes now, yeah?"

Neville looked up to the man sitting across the table, diagonally to his right. He had a warm disposition, with round, hazel eyes and a large smile. There was an upward lilt to his voice; it was not as thick as it must have been during his youth, but even 20 years in Bristol could not completely rid the Scouser of his accent. He had a way of slowing down and observing his surroundings that always made Neville feel more at ease. He was kind and patient in a way that Neville thought was surely fatherly.

He had always liked Ted Tonks.

"Oh, well, I'm continuing with Herbology, of course," Neville said, smiling shyly. "I've received high marks in Charms so far, so I'm thinking of-"

"Charms?" Neville and Ted glanced up to the elderly woman who had barked the interruption. Sitting directly across from him, she fixed him with a stern look of disapproval. "Oh, posh! Who would waste time with such a soft subject? It should have been dropped _ages_ ago."

Neville dropped his eyes back onto his plate.

"I like Charms," he said quietly. His grandmother, however, waved this away with her hand as if the statement was a pesky gnat.

"Well, it's not going to help you any once you have a _professional_ career. I keep telling him," she said, opening the conversation to the rest of the table, "that he should take Transfiguration instead. Far more useful, if you ask me, and much more interesting. Difficult magic, but likely to earn you the upper hand in a duel. I daresay not many grown wizards excel in Transfigurations, and so that would be a mighty feat to accomplish."

"There isn't anything the matter with perfecting one's charm work," interjected his great-uncle, Algie, from the end of the table, leaning across his wife, Cynthia. "If the boy wants to study Charms, let him study Charms."

"And have him waste away the next two years of his education? I think not," Gran sniffed.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Augusta, one class is not going to throw away the remainder of the boy's education at Hogwarts!" his great-aunt scoffed.

"And he'll be taking other classes as well, like, er, Defense Against the Dark Arts and…oi! What sort of classes are you continuing to N.E.W.T. level?"

Neville attempted to catch Great-Uncle Algie's eye, but it was difficult seeing as they were seated on opposite ends of the same side. Nevertheless, he positioned himself so that his great-uncle's face was visible between the heads of Mrs. Tonks and Great-Aunt Cynthia.

"I'll be taking Herbology, maybe Charms, and I want to ask Profess-"

"Do you have any aptitude for History of Magic? It's such an underrated subject – pity, really."

"Oh, I loved History of Magic while I was at Hogwarts!" Mrs. Tonks exclaimed with a smile. "It would be more popular amongst students if they could bring in another professor. Professor Binns is knowledgeable, of course, but they could really use someone a bit more…well…"

"Lively?" Mr. Tonks suggested with a grin. They all laughed, the five of them, and then launched into a conversation of past professors and late-night reviews and old beaus, recounting the days when they themselves had been students at Hogwarts.

Neville leaned back against his chair, shoulders slumping forward. He couldn't share in their nostalgia, and they did not seem to be at all interested in the current affairs of Hogwarts. He glanced over at the young couple beside Mr. Tonks. They were young, perhaps just a year or two out of Hogwarts, and they were deep in conversation, heads bent together as they whispered back and forth. Watching them, however, only made him more miserable. They had created a little space there at the end, just for the two of them, and yet they had more company than he, Neville, had. He picked up his fork once more and began to poke at the mashed potatoes, pulling and scraping them into a pointy little mound. This was why he was always less than thrilled about his grandmother's social meet-ups, whoever was hosting it. He always seemed to be somehow forgotten, and sitting there, amongst a party of eight, he felt terribly alone.


End file.
